Forget or never forgive?
by Blackstar-Moonshadow
Summary: One shot, Sherlock is going home to 221b Bakerstreet., but what is he going home to? It doesn't ocur to him that while he things that John either will never forgive him or has moved on there migth be other feelings that the good doctor is feeling... Rated high for mentionings of dark stuff, bit sorry about that...


Sherlock Holmes thougth that John Watson would either go on with his life and forget him or never forgive him.

John had clearly taken the first path.  
But he just couldn't resist the temptation.  
He had to see John.  
He didn't care if he'd be thrown out through the window or if he'd find John married and long gone from 221b, he just had to go back to the memories of his old life.

He was weak.  
He knew it.  
But he just couldn't go on any longer.  
Not without John

That's why he left the smal, miserable apartment he rented in one of the more run down parts of London to once again aproach 221 Bakerstreet.

The lock was easy enough to pick, it was done in seconds, he had picked the lock hundreds of times when he he had forgot his keys inside the flat. He closed the door gently careful to not make a sound. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and gave up a smal sigh, not loud enough to be heart by Mrs Hudson the sweet thing who was making tea in her kitchen but never the less a sigh.

The door to the livingroom of 221b is closed and he stoppes before it. there is a little ligth seeping in from beneath the door, clearly from the fireplace by the yellow ligth that was seping into the corridor from the smal space below the door. He opened the door as quietly as he could as his body soared with fear, desperation, sadnes and just a little drop of hope.

The scene of the apartment was familiar, yet strange. A fire was blasing high in the fireplace and it was the only sourse of illumination. John stood in the middle of the room facing the windows and the rest of London the fireligth ligthing his left side leaving the rigth side in darkness. His left hand is raised. His fingers are completley still, he knows what he is doing as he´s holding his old sig aiming at his temple.

"I´m so sorry John" was the only thing Sherlock could say and that in nothing but a smal whisper. A single tear made it's way down his left cheek gleaming a little in the fireligth.

Johns reaction was instant, he turned around and he took two steps across the room his eyes black with fury. Then he raised his rigth hand and punshed Sherlock across the face hard enough to send him into the doorpost staggering but not protesting. John janks him upwards again by dragging his rigth arm with his left, which is quite a effort considering that John still hasn't let go of his gun and acts on instinct and chraches his lips down on the younger man both his arms beneath Sherlocks pressing his body to himself as close as he can and Sherlock is not one to protest against the recent turn of events.

They had fallen asleap on the sofa Sherlock realised as he blinked himself awake and the sofa table floated into view. Well , the first thing he understood was that yesterday wasn't just another dream of meeting John again and that - against logic and reason had john not thrown him out of the flat.

So far so good.

But would John ever give him a second chance? After this? it was more than possible that John would simply throw him out the moment John realised that he had woke up. He tried not to think of it and closed his eyes.

"Good morning I know You´r awake" Johns voice greeted him and he opened his eyes to see John set down a tray with two big mugs of tea and a plate with toast with jam.

"And you are eating you know, no question about it" John muttered and eyed Sherlock still not realy daring to believe that the man in front of him was real. "Scoot over I'd like to make sure that you´r real" his voice was low, but determined.  
Sherlock didn't say a word. He just wordlessly scooted over to sit up his knees tugged in beneath his chin. John sat down next to him on the sofa.

"Ehm..." John began unsure of where to start his gaze not even near Sherlock. "There has been an investigation going on, proving that Moriaty was a fake, then there was that recording, I suppose that you placed the recorder didn't you? I understand Sherlock, its just that it left me broken..." Johns voice trailed of when Sherlock made no move of responding.

"Black cherry jam?" He said in a blank voice.

"Cause, it's your favourite why? Change in taste during the last three years?" John said curiously and turned to lood at Sherlock.

"No... John... It's just. It **_is_** my favourite it's just... No one have ever remembered even anything that smal about me, no one have even bothered figuring out." His voice was both sad and confused. "I just want you to know John that these three years have been nothing short of hell, but it's nothing compared to what I´d feel like to loose you. I can´t live without you. I just can´t John. If you´d be gone..." He drew a deep breath and shook his head and turned to look at John. "I´d follow, and I´d follow fast, John. Every minute away from here have hurt me, and yet I´d endure a hundred years of that pain to save your life. I just want to be with you and hate me all you like for my sensles lot of rambling but.. I think I love you..."

John didn't answer at first, instead he snaked his rigth arm around Sherlocks waist, pulling him closer and looked him deep in the eyes with a smal half sad, half happy smile on his lips. When Sherlock took his left hand in his rigth he knew that he was doing the rigth thing.  
"Sherlock, I´ll never love anyone else than you" he said in a soft voice, not more than a whisper, but sometimes are the most precious of things best said not with grandeour and boldness, but with care and comfort.

They both smiled as their lips met.

Turns out tea can perfectly well be microwaved.


End file.
